The Princess put up her glasses to gain time.
"Nothing, dear boy. Tamara is merely amusing herself like all the rest of us at a party. Are you jealous, Gritzko?" she asked.
He looked at her sharply, and for a moment unconsciously fingered the dagger in his belt.
"Yes, I believe I am jealous. I am not at all sure that I do not love your charming friend," he said.
"Well, why don't you marry her then?" suggested the Princess.
"Perhaps I shall—if she does not drive me to doing something mad first. I don't know what I intend. It may be to go off to the Caucasus, or to stay and make her love me so deeply that she will forgive me—no matter what I do."
He paused a moment, and his great eyes filled with mist, and then the wild light grew.
"If ever she becomes my Princess, she shall be entirely for me. I will not let her have a look or thought for any other man. All must be mine—unshared, and then she shall be my queen."
Princess Ardácheff leant back and looked at him. He was in his blue uniform with the scarlet underdress; and even she—old woman and fond friend—could not help picturing the gorgeous joy such a fate would give—to have him for a lover! to see his fierce, proud head bent in devotion, to feel his tender caress. Tamara must be an unutterable fool if she should hesitate.
But what he had said was not reassuring in its prospect of calm. She felt she must put in some small word of admonition.